


Lemon Eyes

by soupercraig



Category: South Park
Genre: Angst, Craig's a ghost and he's bitter, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Fluff, Ghosties, Language, M/M, Paranormal, Slow Burn, first fanfic, i don't know how to tag, will add tags as the story develops
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-22 06:07:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30034206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soupercraig/pseuds/soupercraig
Summary: Someone new moves into Craig's apartment.Or, well, the apartment he's haunting.Craig's tired of people invading his personal space, and Tweek just wants a place alone to cope with the stress of adulthood.Neither expected to have a new roommate so soon, but maybe they can help each other move on.
Relationships: Craig Tucker/Tweek Tweak
Comments: 1
Kudos: 9





	Lemon Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> This draft has been sitting on my computer forever let's go.  
> Also, this is probably the only chapter that will be in first-person! I'm planning the rest in third person, unless I change my indecisive little mind.

Someone new has barged in. It’s not a problem, but I hate watching them. Coming in here like they own the place, putting their things where they don’t belong, inviting people over for all sorts of child play and ruckus. Whatever.

I can’t stand it.

Last time was a girl, this time, a boy. He doesn’t really have as much luggage as the girl had, so there isn’t much to snoop in. He walks by me, carrying boxes stacked on one another, balancing like he doesn’t think he’ll drop them.

Well, he does. On account of my leg sticking out, but no matter - he trips regardless. One of those boxes tumble open and there’s just some books and papers, scattering about and making a mess. Who keeps those anymore?

He rolls onto his side on the floor and looks around, though we’re alone so he’s gotta be one petty recluse if he’s really that embarrassed. Then he looks at me- passed me, through me. He couldn’t see me if he tried. But he keeps looking there, and it almost makes me look over my own shoulder, to see if there’s something behind me, but then he looks away and starts picking up the mess.

Night comes and he’s not like the last invader of this place. He doesn’t call friends or family to party or celebrate a new place, or spend the night out. He sits at the kitchen table, eating soup from a can. A can. No fork; slurping it up and looking at one of the books from before. And I don’t really know why, it’s not anything worth reading. Just… In all honesty, it’s in some other language, and I can’t understand a word. Must be a foreign exchange student. Explains the lack of company.

But the thing that bothers me most is when he leaves everything out to sleep; the papers, books, that damned can of soup- all sitting on the table and bugging bugging _bugging_ me. Words I can’t understand, trash to sit out for the bugs-

I throw it all off of the table, the papers flying and scattering on the floor, and the books slamming on the walls- the empty can of soup all the way across the cramped room.

I can’t take it, I hate it- all the laziness, and the noises, and one person after another.

The light flicks on and he’s back, looking around for a burglar, but there isn’t one. He’s the burglar.

It doesn’t amaze me, but it’s weird, seeing him pick everything back up like nothing has happened. Then he goes back off to bed. Who the hell just goes back off to bed?

I try not to ponder.

It’s two in the afternoon now, yet he’s still snoring in his patterned pajamas, mumbling on and on about some nightmare involving a garden gnome and a closet.

Again, I don’t ponder. I’m not sure I _want_ to.


End file.
